It was worse when she mentioned Alan. When a letter from him arrived, Quinn took it into the library and closed the door. Paige searched his face anxiously when he came out.
‘How is Alan?’ she asked when she couldn’t bear the silence another moment.
‘Fine.’
‘Is he…’
‘I don’t want to discuss Alan,’ he said sharply. ‘Do you understand?’
She told herself she did. Their relationship had improved, but it was still tenuous. There was no point in opening old wounds. In the dark of night, a silent voice warned that ignoring things wasn’t the same as coming to terms with them. But her niggling doubts seemed foolish by daylight.
What counted was that she and Quinn were getting along with each other. Of course, they were only doing all this so that she could carry off her public dutie
s as his wife. And yet, except for that first dinner party, they saw no one but each other. It was as if they were living in their own world, brought to life by the sound of Quinn’s key in the door at night.
Paige found herself glancing at her watch each afternoon, wondering if he’d be early or late. Early meant around six; he was never home sooner than that. By then, she always had the fire started in the library and her clothes changed. One chill autumn afternoon, she’d laid the fire and was just hurrying upstairs when she heard the door open and close.
She paused halfway up the stairs. ‘You’re home,’ she said foolishly, staring at Quinn in surprise as he stood in the doorway looking up at her. He was looking at her strangely, and she ran her hand through her hair a bit self-consciously. ‘I only just got in,’ she said. ‘I was at the Victoria and Albert and I got caught in the rain…’ God, she was babbling! But he was making her nervous, watching her like that. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late.’
Quinn’s smile was slight. ‘I came home early. I thought it would be nice if we went for a drive before dinner.’
Why was he staring at her? There was something different about him tonight, but what? Paige swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat.
‘I’d like that,’ she said carefully. ‘Just give me a minute to change…’ The look on his face stopped her. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
In the enclosed space of the Jaguar, the easy informality that had grown between them over the weeks vanished. Their conversation was stilted, and when they stopped for dinner at an Elizabethan pub beside the Thames, it all but disappeared.
‘This is a handsome old place, isn’t it?’ Quinn asked after they’d ordered and the silence had stretched on and on.
Paige nodded. ‘Yes, it’s lovely.’
‘Would you like some more wine?’
‘No, thanks,’ she said politely.
More silence. When their meal arrived, it was a welcome distraction, but Paige could hardly manage a mouthful and, when Quinn suggested they leave, she almost knocked her chair over in her rush to get to her feet.
‘It’s late,’ he said curtly, and she nodded in agreement, for once eager to reach the solitude of her own bedroom. She breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached the house again. Something had gone wrong, but she hadn’t the slightest idea what it was.
The door closed behind them. ‘Goodnight,’ she said at the foot of the stairs. ‘Thank you for…’
‘Would you like some brandy?’
Paige shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I… I think I’ll call it a night.’
Quinn nodded. ‘I’ll see you up.’
She almost told him that was silly, that she lived in his house and slept in a room down the hall from his, but something in his voice warned her not to argue, and she nodded and started up the stairs. He followed behind her; a pulse began to beat in her throat as she thought of him watching the movement of her hips and legs. When they reached the second floor, she hurried to the closed door of her room.
‘Goodnight,’ she said, turning towards him.
‘Paige,’ he said, his voice a husky whisper. ‘Paige…’
Everything seemed to happen with an unreal slowness. She looked up at him and saw the dark fire in his eyes. And when he put his hand on her arm, she suddenly understood everything. The electric awareness that had brought them together seemed to pulse in the charged air.
Quinn wanted her. And she wanted him. The weeks of being together had been leading them to this all along; he had just realised it before she had. That was why he’d come home early, that was the reason for the tension all evening.
She turned away in confusion. His arms closed around her and he drew her back against him, whispering her name again. The sound of it lay thick as honey on his tongue.